by The Web(Lit)
The man between them had on a beautiful featherweight gray serge suit that trimmed ten pounds from his two hundred. Six feet tall, heavy shouldered and narrow hipped, with a square face, bullish features, slit mouth, rancher's tan. His shirt was soft blue broadcloth with a pin collar, his foulard a silver and wine silk weave. His hair was bushy and black on top, the temples snow-white. The contrast was almost artificial, as dramatic in real life as on TV.
He looked like Hollywood's idea of a senator, but Hollywood had nothing to do with his becoming one, if newspapers and magazines could be believed.
The story was a good one: born to a young widow in a struggling Oregon logging camp, Nicholas Hoffman had been tutored at home till the age of fifteen, when he'd lied about his age and enlisted in the Navy. By the end of the Korean War, he was a decorated hero who gave the military another 15 years of distinguished service before entering the real estate business, making his first million by 40 and running successfully for the Senate at forty-three. His doctrine was the avoidance of extremes; someone dubbed him Mr. Middle-of-the-Road and it stuck. True believers on both ends tried to use it against him. The voters ignored them, and Hoffman was well into his third term after a no-contest race.
"Bill!" he said, barging ahead of the officers and stretching out a meaty hand.
"Senator," said Moreland, softly.
"Oh, Jesus!" roared Hoffman.
"Cut the crap! How are you, man?"
He grabbed Moreland's hand and pumped. Moreland remained expressionless. Hoffman turned to Pam.
"You must be Dr. Moreland, Junior. Christ, last time I saw you, you were in diapers." He let go of her father and touched her fingers briefly.
"You are a doctor?"
She nodded.
"Splendid."
Creedman stuck out his hand and announced himself.
"Ah, the press," said Hoffman.
"Captain Ewing told me you were here, so I said invite him, show him open government in action or he'll make something up. On assignment?"
"Writing a book."
"On what?"
"Nonfiction novel."
"Ah. Great."
"What brings you here, Senator?"
"Fact-finding trip. Not one of those sun-and-fun junkets. Real work. Downsizing. Appraising military installations."
Unbuttoning his jacket, he patted his middle. He had a small, hard paunch that tailoring had done a good job of camouflaging.
"And you must be the doctors from California." He stuck out his hand.
"Nick Hoffman."
"Dr. Delaware's a psychologist," said Robin.
"I build musical instruments.
"How nice..." He glanced at the table.
"Shall we, Captain?"
"Certainly, Senator," said the red-faced officer. His voice was raspy. Neither he nor the swarthy man had budged during the introductions.
"You're at the head, sir."
Hoffman strode quickly to his place and removed his jacket.
The taller officer rushed to take it from him, but he'd already hung it on the back of the chair and sat down, removing his collar pin and loosening his tie.
"Drink, Senator?" the officer said.
"Iced tea, Walt. Thanks."
The tall man left. The red-faced man remained in place near the door.
"Join us, Captain Ewing," said Hoffman, motioning to one of the two empty chairs.
Ewing removed his hat and complied, leaving lots of space between his back and the chair.
"Can I assume everyone knows everyone, Elvin?" said Hoffman.
"I know everyone by name," said Ewing.
"But we've never met."
"Mr. Creedman, Dr. Pam Moreland, Dr. and Mrs. Delaware," said Hoffman, "Captain Elvin Ewing, base commander."
Ewing put a finger to his eyeglasses. He looked as comfortable as a eunuch in a locker room.
The officer returned with Hoffman's tea. The glass was oversized and a mint sprig floated on top.
"Anything else, Senator?"
"No. Sit down, Walt."
As he started to obey, Ewing said, "Introduce yourself, lieutenant."
"Lieutenant Zondervein," said the tall man looking straight ahead.
"There," said Hoffman.
"Now we're all friends." Emptying most of the glass with one gulp, he picked out the mint sprig and chewed on a leaf.
"Are you traveling alone, Senator?" said Creedman.
Hoffman grinned at him.
"Just can't turn it off, can you? If you mean do I have an entourage no, just me. And yes, it's a leased government jet, but I rode along with the base supplies."
The sleek craft I'd noticed.
"Actually," continued Hoffman, 'there are three other leglislative luminaries assigned to this particular trip. Senators Bering, Petrucci, and Hammersmith. They're in Hawaii right now, arriving in Guam tomorrow, and I can't promise you they haven't been sunbathing." Grinning.
"I decided to come early so I could revisit my old stomping grounds, see old friends.
No, Mr. Creedman, it didn't cost the taxpayers an extra penny, because my assignment is to assess facilities on several of the smaller Micronesian islands, including Aruk, and by coming alone I turned it into a cheap date."
He finished the tea, crushed an ice cube, swallowed, and laughed.
"I got to sit up with the pilot. God, the instrumentation on these things. Might as well have been trying to play one of those damn computer games my grandkids are addicted to did you know the average seven-year-old has more computer proficiency than his parents will ever achieve? Great eye-hand skills, too. Maybe we should train seven-year-olds to fly combat, Elvin."
Ewing's smile was anemic.
"Let me get you a refill, Senator," said Zondervein, starting to get up.
Hoffman said, "No, thanks anyone else?"
Creedman lifted his martini glass.
Lieutenant Zondervein took it and went to the door.
"I'" check on the first course."
Hoffman unfolded his napkin and tucked it into his collar.
"Mafia style," he said.
"But one wirephoto with grease spots on the tie and you learn. So what's on the menu, Elvin?"
"Chicken," said Ewing.
"Does it bounce?"
"I hope not, sir."
"Roast or fried?"
"Roast."
"See that, Mr. Creedman? Simple fare."
He turned to Ewing.
"And for Dr. Moreland?"
"Sir?"
Hoffman's lips maintained a smile but his eyes narrowed until they disappeared.
"Dr. Moreland's a vegetarian, Captain. I believe I radioed you that from the plane."
"Yes, sir. There are vegetables."
There are vegetables. Fresh ones?"
"I believe so, sir."
"I hope so," said Hoffman, too gently.
"Dr. Moreland maintains a very healthy diet or at least he used to. I assume that hasn't changed, Bill?"
"Anything's fine," said Moreland.
You were way ahead of your time, Bill. Eating right while the rest of us went merrily about, clogging our arteries. You look great. Been keeping up with the bridge?"
"No."
"No? You had how many masters points ten, fifteen?"
"Haven't played at all since you left, Nicholas."
"Really." Hoffman looked around.
"Bill was a great bridge player photographic memory and you couldn't read his face. The rest of us were amateurs, but we did manage to put together some spirited matches, didn't we, Bill? You really quit? No more duplicate tournaments like the ones you used to play at the Saipan club?"
Another shake of Moreland's head.
"Anyone here play?" said Hoffman.
"Maybe we can get a game going after dinner."
Silence.
"Oh, well... great game. Skill plus the luck of the draw. A lot more realistic than something like chess."
Zondervein returned with Cr
eedman's martini. Two sailors followed with a rolling cart of appetizers.
Honeydew melon wrapped in ham.
Hoffman said, "Take the meat off Dr. Moreland's."
Zondervein rushed to obey.
The ham tasted like canned sausage. The melon was more starch than sugar.
Gladys had said Hoffman was a gourmet, but gourmand was more like it: he dug in enthusiastically, scraping honeydew flesh down to bare rind and emptying his water glass three times.
"Dad's been writing to you," said Pam.
"Did you receive his letters?"
"I did indeed," said Hoffman.
"Two letters, right, Bill? Or did you send some I didn't get?"
"Just two."
Would you believe they just made their way to my desk? The filtering process. Actually only the second one got to me directly.
Maybe the three times you wrote "personal" on the envelope did the trick. Anyway, I was tickled to receive it. Then I read the reference to your first letter and put out a search for it.
Finally found it in some aide's office filed under "Ecology."
You probably would have received a form letter in two or three months where do you get the ham, Elvin? Not Smithwood or Parma, that's for sure."
"It's through the general mess, sir," said Ewing.
"As you instructed."
Hoffman stared at him.
Ewing turned to Zondervein.
"Where's the ham from, Lieutenant?"
"I'm not sure, sir."
"Find out ASAP. Before the senator leaves."
"Yes, sir. I'll go to the kitchen right now-' "No," said Hoffman.
"Not important see, Tom, we eat frugally when the public picks up the tab."
If you want great grub, Senator, come over to my house."
"You cook, do you?"
"Love to cook. Got a great beef tournedos recipe." Creedman smiled at Moreland.
"I'm into meat."
"Get much meat on the island?" said Hoffman.
"I make do. It takes some creativity."
"How about you, Pam? Do you like to cook?"
"Not particularly."
"Only thing I can do is biscuits. Campside biscuits, recipe handed down from my great-grandmother flour, baking soda, salt, sugar, bacon drippings."
"How long will you be staying?" said Moreland.
"Just till tomorrow."
"You've finished assessing Stanton?"
"The process began stateside."
"Are you planning to close it down?"
Hoffman put down his fork and rubbed the rim of his plate.
We're not at the decision stage, yet."
"Meaning closure is likely."
"I can't eliminate any possibilities, Bill."
"If the base closes, what will happen to Aruk?"
"You're probably in a better position to say, Bill."
"I probably am," said Moreland.
"Do you remember what I wrote about the blockade of South Beach road?"
"Yes, I mentioned that to Captain Ewing."
"Did Captain Ewing give you his reason?"
Hoffman looked at Ewing.
"Elvin?"
Ewing's red face was aflame.
"Security," he rasped.
"Meaning?" said Moreland.
Ewing directed his answer at Hoffman.
"I'm not free to discuss it openly, sir."
The blockade was economic oppression, Nick," said Moreland.
Hoffman cut free a white outer scrap of melon, stared at it, chewed, and swallowed.
"Sometimes things change, Bill," he said softly.
"Sometimes they shouldn't, Nick. Sometimes under the guise of helping people we do terrible things."
Hoffman squinted at Ewing again.
"Could you be a little more forthcoming for Dr. Moreland, Elvin?"
Ewing swallowed. There'd been no food in his mouth.
"There was some local unrest. We appraised it given the data at hand, and the judgment was that it had the potential to escalate and pose a hazard to Navy security. Restricting contact between the men and the locals was deemed advisable in terms or risk management. The proper forms were sent to Pacific Command and approval was granted by Admiral Felton."
"Gobbledygook," said Moreland.
"A few kids got out of hand.
I think the Navy can handle that without choking off the island's economy. We've exploited them all these years, it's immoral to simply yank out the rug."
Ewing bit back comment and stared straight ahead.
"Bill," said Hoffman, 'my memory is that we saved them from the Japanese. That doesn't make us exploiters."
"Defeating the Japanese was in our national interest. Then we took over and imposed our laws. That makes the people our responsibility."
Hoffman tapped his fork on his plate.
"With all due respect," he said very softly, 'that sounds a little paternalistic."
"It's mystic."
Pam touched the top of his hand. He freed it and said: "Local unrest makes it sound like some kind of uprising. It was nothing, Nick. Trivial."
Ewing's lips were so tight they looked sutured.
"Shall I check on the second course, sir?" said Zondervein.
Ewing gave him a guillotine-blade nod.
"Actually, it's not quite that simple," said Creedman.
"There was a murder. A girl raped and left cut up on the beach. The locals were sure a sailor had done it and were coming up here to protest."
"Oh?" said Hoffman.
"Is there evidence a sailor was responsible?"
"None whatsoever, sir," said Ewing, too loudly.
"They love rumors here. The locals got liquored up and tried to storm-' "Don't make it sound like an insurgence," said Moreland.
"The people had justification for their suspicions."
"Oh?" said Hoffman.
"Surely you remember the people, Nick. How nonviolent they are. And the victim consorted with sailors."
"Consorted." Hoffman smiled, put his fingers together, and looked over them.
"I knew the people thirty years ago, Bill. I don't believe Navy men tend to be murderers."
Moreland stared at him.
Ewing was nearly scarlet.
"We were concerned about things getting out of hand. We still believe that concern was justified, given the facts and the hypotheticals. The order came from Pacific Command."
"Nonsense," said Moreland. The facts are that we're a colonial power and it's the same old pattern: islanders living at the pleasure of westerners only to be abandoned. It's a betrayal. Yet another example of abusing trust."
Hoffman didn't move. Then he picked something out of his teeth and ate another ice cube.
"A betrayal," repeated Moreland.
Hoffman seemed to be thinking about that. Finally, he said, "You know that Aruk has a special place in my heart, Bill. After the war, I needed peace and beauty and something unspoiled."
To us: "Anyone tells you there's anything glorious about war has his head jammed up his rectum so high he's been blinded.
Right, Elvin?"
Ewing managed a nod.
"After the war I spent some of the best years of my life here.
Remember how you and Barb and Dotty and I used to hike and swim, Bill? How we used to say that some places were better left untouched? Perhaps we were more prescient that we knew.
Maybe sometimes nature has to run her course."
"That's the point, Nicholas. Aruk has been touched. People's lives are at-' "I know, I know. But the problem is one of population distribution. Allocation of increasingly sparse resources. I've seen too many ill-conceived projects that look good on paper but don't wash. Too many assumptions about the inevitable benefits of prosperity and autonomy. Look what happened to Nauru."